


deserving of life.

by seizonsha



Series: sanctify me [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: M/M, New Dangan Ronpa V3 Spoilers, Ouma not Oma, There’s violence and gore/blood mentions but nothing worse, Time Loop, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22312219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seizonsha/pseuds/seizonsha
Summary: and at that moment, watching the self-proclaimed dictator, eyes heavy with sleep as he nurses a cup of sencha tea,saihara knows he would die a thousand times so that the ouma before him could live.(companion piece to death god)
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Series: sanctify me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845406
Comments: 28
Kudos: 115





	deserving of life.

**Author's Note:**

> hey so i did another thing. i’m the same anon user who wrote death god which i’d link but it doesn’t work lol but anyway. fuck this and enjoy it’s 3:43 I have school tomorrow i think  
> https://youtu.be/aiNKk3fPed8  
> https://youtu.be/dQw4w9WgXcQ
> 
> pick one i guess

Amami’s body is still warm beneath Saihara’s fingers, the gentle pulsation of the blood at his scalp proof of a lingering heartbeat. Empty and accusing, the survivor’s (why does he know that?) eyes, lashes tangled with congealed blood, bore holes into Saihara’s own, leaving a lump in the detective’s throat that makes him want to cry and vomit at once. There’s something metallic smelling and sticky on his hands, on the cuffs of his shirt, and even as he pushes up his sleeves to examine the back of Amami’s head, leaning over him with a silent apology, it feels like there’s something choking him from behind.

Amami was kind, if detached and a little too calm,

and yet, lying there with those dead, glassy eyes,

saihara’s not even sure if he looks human anymore.

-

“Wow. You finally got rid of that dumb emo hat! Got over the whole harajuku thing you were trying to pull off?”

oh, how he wishes he could hate him.

-

Akamatsu’s corpse hangs, something dripping from her lips that might be sweat or vomit or tears.

Her lavender eyes, the same blue-purple as her lips, her hands, stare blankly into the wall.

The jaws of the iron maiden, like a Venus flytrap closing around an insect, close over Akamatsu’s head, severing the rope suspending her body.

Blood splatters onto Saihara’s cheek.  
-  
oh,  
but,  
-  
Harukawa’s hand is wrapped firmly around his wrist, like an older sister dragging her sibling to school. Saihara can hear his heartbeat, erratic and afraid, pulsating in his throat, his chest, his wrists. His hands tremble as though they might cry, searching his uniform for a loose thread to pull on or the brim of a hat to pull down. Yumeno’s shuffling along childishly at his back, kicking pebbles and gaping in awe at the bright, empty sky overheard, all the more blue with red Harukawa and Yumeno below.

“Momota-kun,” Harukawa murmurs, something like triumph in her voice, “we made it.”

Yumeno lets out a little squeak as she trips over a rock, stumbling and landing awkwardly on her knees. Saihara pauses where he stands, head tilted a little.

That’s new.

-

Iruma’s blue eyes, watery and pathetic,   
stare up at him accusingly, blue-tinged lips parted in surprise.

  
-  
he’s paid the price for wishing,  
-

Akamatsu peers down at him from her spot on the ladder, a little overly careful in making sure that he’s not looking where he shouldn’t. He understands, of course - but he’s on the other side of the library, so,

The camera in front of him goes off with a mechanical click. Saihara frowns at it, picking it up to weigh in one hand. It’s not that heavy, for something holding what’s probably a good hundred photos or so of film - and whatever modifications Iruma made. Probably the kind of thing anyone could lift, if they wanted. 

He hears Akamatsu yawn a little, the white backpack over her shoulders shifting and digging into her shoulders.

“Ah, Akamatsu-san,” Saihara calls out, walking back over to where she’s so diligently rearranging the books, “Do you want me to take your bag? It looks like it might get in the way, so,” he hesitates, “If you’d like to drop it down, I can find somewhere to put it..?”

Akamatsu brightens a little, grinning. 

“Aw. Saihara-kun’s such a gentleman. Uhm, I’ll come down and give it to you, okay? I put a ton of sheet music I found in there, and I don’t want it to get crumpled or anything, sooo…”

Saihara nods, the camera in his hand whirring pleasantly as it rotates the film. “Ah, would Akamatsu-san mind putting this camera in for me, while she’s down here...? It’s, ah,” he winces, “a little stiff. I think I might be doing it wrong.”

The pianist nods, jumping to skip the last three ladder rungs. The straps of her bag slip off her shoulders easily, landing on carpeted floor with a muted thunk as she turns to face him. Her mouth splits into a grin, white teeth and warm eyes. “Just leave it to me, alright? I’ll have this done in no time.”

The camera goes off in her face just as she finishes, and, giggling, Akamatsu tries to blink the spots out of her eyes. 

“Uh, sorry. Just a sec.”

Soft footsteps, but not soft enough.

Pushing the top back, he reaches a hand into her bag, listening for the reassuring clicking and shuffling of books in place to tell him that she’s busy.

He’ll have to guess, probably. He’s not a huge expert on brain anatomy or what gets damaged. He’s just a detective - not forensics or anything,

but,

the back of the head was what killed Amami, right?  
-  
hasn’t he done enough?   
-

“Saihara-kun,” wide eyes, cold with horror, “You’re kidding me, right? Haha. This isn’t funny.”

-  
hasn’t he damned enough people?  
-  
The dining hall is uncomfortably empty without Toujou to staff it. It’s eight on the dot, earlier than he’d usually be here, but he’d like to get some kind of log of everything in the school written down, and being held up by Momota and the others would delay that a little too much to be pleasant.

“Ah, Ouma-kun-“ Saihara starts, a little surprised, “I, ah, didn’t expect anyone to be here this early..?”

Ouma grins sleepily, fingers wrapped around an empty cup. “Duh. I’m full of surprises! But, cause we’re lovers and all, I thought you’d know that already…” 

Saihara cringes internally,

“But then it totally wouldn’t be a surprise, so it’s fine. Whatever! Can you get my tea?”

Saihara pauses, casting his gaze to the kettle whistling quietly in the kitchen. He didn’t really take Ouma to be a tea person, but then again, people always expect him to be a coffee person, so.

“Don’t worry. You can drink it first, in case it’s poisoned! Then nobody with people to host a massive clown-themed funeral for them will die.”

Ouma’s grinning, expression childish and unconcerned, but, as Saihara retrieves a teapot and sets it between them, his expression softens, a poorly-hidden yawn leaving his eyes a little more watery. He brings two fingers together in a little heart symbol, already attempting to pour the tea with the other.

ah, he knows ouma’s just trying to aggravate him, but even so,

at that moment, watching the self-proclaimed dictator, eyes heavy with sleep as he nurses a cup of sencha tea,

saihara knows he would die a thousand times so that the ouma before him could live.

-

  
Blood flecks the library walls, pooling unevenly over across the floor. There’s a sizeable,

dent,

in her skull, and, though probably not exactly placed right, without the precision of shirogane’s attempt on amami,

there’s something almost comforting in watching her eyes go cold. he has time, right? nobody knows they’re meant to be in the library.

he has plenty of time to hate himself.

-

he’s no better than them, in the end,

-

momota   
smiles, even as   
his organs spill out onto the floor.

fuck. he can’t let this happen again. that was bad that really killed him.  
-

saihara is no more deserving of life than they are.

-

harukawa’s no stronger in the virtual world than he is, and, though she struggles,

suffocation’s not really about brute strength anyway, is it?

-

all i want is a future by your side.

-

it hurts to have your bones crushed, snapping and melting all at once. it’s like watching your heart be ripped out your chest, stir fried and fed into a shredder but if you could still feel it.

-

god, what wouldn’t he give? let him be selfish.

  
-

i love you.

**Author's Note:**

> 22nd of february 2020: taken off anon


End file.
